


Love Doesn't Discriminate Between the Sinners and the Saints

by jezza



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Book Club, Charles and Moira are BFFs, Chess, Disclaimer: I don't know how chess works, Erik and Charles are literary snobs, M/M, rating is for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 17:51:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16045535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jezza/pseuds/jezza
Summary: “This is the book club, right? I was expecting it to be more… wild, what with the blood on the poster and all.”Or, Charles starts a book club, but falls in love over chess and cheesecake.





	Love Doesn't Discriminate Between the Sinners and the Saints

**Author's Note:**

  * For [musicanova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicanova/gifts).



> Happy birthday my dude, you're finally as old as me.  
> Please enjoy this mess in all its wonder and please forgive how rushed it is.  
> Title because duh, why wouldn't I?  
> Happy cheesecake day.

“Shit!”

Charles dropped everything he’d been somehow holding in his arms; all the posters, the tape, the three hardcover books and the staple gun. 

The staple gun that had just gone straight through the paper, but also straight through his thumb. Charles shook the pain out of his hand and brought the thumb up to his mouth. He stood there, contemplating how long one could stand in a high school hallway, thumb in mouth, with a whirlwind of paper scattered around him.

Probably not this long.

With a sigh, he bent to gather all the posters back up, leaving the books for the meantime. The poster he’d just attempted to hang was dangling crookedly from one corner, looking terribly miserable amongst the colourful, preppy messages that were scattered over the rest of St. Andrew’s main notice board. 

Despite that, Charles admires the sharp message adorning the poster and grins to himself.

 

****_STUDENT BOOK CLUB_  
TUESDAY LUNCH  
ROOM G412 ****

 

~*~

 

It’s late when Charles sneaks out. 

It’s something he does probably a bit too regularly, but needs must and he must talk to Moira at least thrice a week.

Their friendship had begun way back in the second grade when Charles had accidentally read her thoughts and shoved his sandwich her way, making an astonished smile appear on her tiny peanut butter craving face.

Now, separated by the devil that is single-sex education, but lucky enough to only be a fence away from each other, both grew cunning enough to sneak out of dorms at night, leaving silent footprints behind with the creaking of old stairs and slivers of moonlight escaping through cracked open doors. 

Charles is first to arrive at their tree, a grand old oak in the park behind the schools, curling up to the sky with the promise of late night conversations and lazy weekend homework. 

He didn’t have to wait long for Moira; they’ve got their system worked out with the precision of a CIA operation.

She slipped through the steadily growing hole in the fence and made her way over to Charles. It was too dark to see the smile he knew was on her face.

“Evening.”

“And to you, good sir.”

They burst into giggles, Moira flopping onto the ground and leaning against Charles.

“How’s life?” 

“It’s life. Always the same.”                   

“Mm.”

They sat for a while, enjoying the cool night and rare peace away from the bustle of their schools. They both needed this time, revelled in it, falling back on the bonds of an age-old friendship.         

“Did you do it?” Moira eventually asked, breaking the silence. 

“I did. Posters went up this morning. Do you really think it’ll work?”

There was a pause. Moira took his hand. 

“It might. Your school is full of dipshits though. But I hope it does. You need more friends, Charles. So I hope so. I really do.”

“Me too, Moria, me too.”

 

~*~

 

Charles sighed, glancing at the clock. Fifteen minutes into the meeting, and not one person had shown up. He wasn’t expecting much, but he’d thought maybe at least one of the students he sees regularly in the library would show up. Solidarity and all that. He reached out for his mug (appropriated from the staff room of course) and took a sip of the painfully weak tea. Stingy shits not spending enough on the necessities.

He downed the last of it with a grimace and reached for the book he’d brought. Had to keep up his reputation as book club president and all.

He’d just made it past the title page (fine, maybe he’d spent five whole minutes reading the publishers page, but it was likely the best part of the whole book) when the flimsy old door opened, creaking far less than Charles’ knees did and a tall boy leaned into the classroom with all the composition of a lowkey arsehole.

“This is the book club, right? I was expecting it to be more… _wild_ , what with the blood on the poster and all.” 

Of fucking course that was the poster this guy had seen. Charles’ luck was gone for the holidays.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, forcing the cheer into his voice. “Would you like to join?”

He looked like a pretty good candidate, Charles thought. Intelligence shone out of startlingly blue eyes, and despite the cocky stance, the guy seemed decent enough. And most importantly, like he could string together a critical comment.

“Mm, I guess so,” he hummed in reply, “you certainly need at least one member.”

Charles flushed as the boy gestured to the empty classroom, self-consciously straightening in his chair.

“It’s only the first meeting. I’m sure people will turn up.”

“Well, if that’s what you think,” he replied, raising an eyebrow as he plopped down into a seat. “I’m not sure I know many people in this school who would voluntarily read such a terrible thing as a _book_.”

The sarcasm dripped from his voice so thickly it felt like honey coating Charles’ mind, and he couldn’t form the words fast enough to get out a coherent comeback.

“I… well I… you never know,” he finally settled on, hating the way the boy made him feel, for the very first time in his life, that he wasn’t the smartest person in the room.

“I guess we’ll see.”

The glint was back in his eyes, and Charles honestly didn’t know if he wanted to figure out what made this guy tick or how to get as far away from him as possible.

He sighed.

“What’s your name, then?” Charles asked, pulling out the attendance sheet he’d printed off this morning. At least there’d be two names on it.

“Erik.”

“Last name?”

“Lehnsherr.”

And so he was on the list.

“So, captain, what are we reading?” Erik asked, propping his feet up onto the table with barely contained glee.

“I thought we might start with _An Abundance of Katherines_ ,” he said, lifting the copy he had been flicking through before Erik had arrived.

Erik dropped his feet back to the floor.

“What? John Green? We go to a posh English boarding school, you’re a posh English boy who looks like he has a strong respect for the classics and you want to read _John Green_?” He raged, eyebrows getting lower and lower on his forehead with each word.

“Uh, well yes,” Charles started, picking absently at the barely healed cut on his hand. “While John Green books are slightly overrated and perhaps a little formulaic, I thought it might be best to choose something that would appeal to teenagers. And besides, _An Abundance of Katherines_ is by far his best work.” 

“ _Teenagers_. You say that as if you aren’t one,” Erik mused, “I bet you think you’re on a completely different level to anyone in this hellhole, don’t you? A little to grown up for the hormonal masses, are we?”

Charles dropped the copy of _Katherines_ , not expecting to be called out like that. He opened his mouth, shut it again, considered, then opened it again and took a gamble on his intuition.

“Well it’s not like you’re any different, is it?” He asked, observing the way Erik’s blazer was scruffy from a lack of care rather than age and the tense set of his shoulders whenever someone walked past the open door.

He realised he’d never really seen Erik around. Charles may not have been the most sociable person, but he was attentive and involved enough to at least recognise everyone in the student body. It was a small school.

And perhaps his intuition was right, what with the way Erik’s eyes hardened momentarily, before he blinked them back into clarity.

“Touché,” Erik eventually replied, inclining his head before reaching over to snatch up the book. “If we both hate youth that much, let’s find all the problems with this book. Whoever finds the most wins.”

Charles hated to say it, but he really didn’t mind the way that his book club was getting derailed right before his eyes.

“Sounds marvellous,” he allowed, “a week sufficient for you?”

Erik snorted.

“A week? Give me three days.”

 

~*~

 

“Oh, and did I mention that he’s just so damn tall?”

They were sitting under the oak tree, as usual, Charles leaning back against the trunk, Moira leaning against his side.

“You did. About five times, Charles,” Moira responded dryly, scrolling through her phone with little interest. “At this point, it seems like his most prominent characteristic.”

Charles didn't pout. He really didn't.

“Well it kind of is. He really is that tall.”

Moria sighed.

“Great. An intelligent, tall, surly nerd. Almost just like you.”

“I’m not surly!” Charles shouted, sending a sleeping owl flying from the tree.

“Only sometimes,” Moira laughed, patting Charles’ hand in fake sympathy. “But really, a new friend will be good for you. You’ve been lonely since Hank transferred.”

“I know,” Charles sighed, and he really has. It’s more than slightly isolating to have your only real friend in the whole school leave, and starting the new year alone is something Charles hadn’t been handling particularly well. 

Hence the birth of the book club.

“He seems like a bit of an arse. I guess we’ll see. No one can replace Hank. Or you for that matter.”

“Ain’t that right,” Moira said, leaning her head onto Charles’ shoulder with a tired smile.

 

~*~

 

Three weeks and five books later, Charles admitted to himself that he had met his match in Erik Lehnsherr. Of course, he’d already known that by the second time they’d met, when the taller boy had marched into the classroom and slammed down a stack of meticulously written notes on all the flaws he’d found in _An Abundance of Katherines_. All the same flaws Charles had found. And ones he hadn’t.

So it was safe to say that Charles was rather pleased that that he had a found a friend in Erik. At least, what he thought was a friend. He wasn’t sure if Erik saw their relationship as anything past book club mates. Charles was content to call him a friend though, in his mind where there was a rather empty box that had been slightly blue ever since Hank had transferred schools.

Not that he said any of this out loud, content with a small smile as Erik entered the room for the meeting.

“Erik.”

“Charles. What disgusting thing have you got for us today?”

“I’m glad you asked. I suspect this one will provide us with quite a lot of material,” Charles said, reaching into his bag for the book. When he sets it on the table however, his smile dies at the site of Erik’s dismay.

“No. _No._ I put up with so much Charles, so much, and I did it, I wrote goddamn bibles on what was wrong with those piles of shit, I _read_ those piles of shit. But this the limit. I’m walking out that door and never coming back if you as so much as open the cover of that book. There’s absolutely no way in hell I’m even touching a copy of _Twilight_.”

Charles just blinked. All he’d done was pull the book out of his bag and place it on the table, much the same as he’d been doing for each of the previous books.

“Alright,” he said slowly, “we can read something else then. What about… um… _Divergent_?”

“No.”

“ _City of Bones_?”

“No! No more! No more dystopian fantasy teen rubbish!” Erik shouted, slamming his hands down on the table.

“Okay, geez,” Charles muttered, “what do you suggest we do then? You were the one who came up with this idea anyway.” 

Erik paused. Charles could see the cogs spinning in his mind, and wondered if he’d broach the idea of reading books they were actually interested in. While tempting, that was rather a dangerous idea, judging by the spectacular fight they’d gotten into over Darcy’s character when Charles’ battered copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ had fallen out of his bag.

“Do you play chess?” Erik asked suddenly, snapping Charles out of his thoughts.

“Chess? Of course. Not for a while though, I don’t really have anyone to play with.”

Truth be told, if Erik was offering up a chance to play chess, Charles wouldn’t say no. It had been far too long since he’d played, let alone had a somewhat decent opponent ( _read: Hank_ ). And perhaps a little competitiveness would suit them more than a little bit.

“Great,” Erik said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a tablet. He set in down between them and called up a chess app. Charles scrunched his nose slightly, drawing a slight chuckle out of Erik. “I know, it’s not the best, but I don’t exactly carry my chess set around with me. I’ll bring it next time.”

“Alright.”

Charles smiled and flipped the tablet around so he had the white pieces.

“What?” he laughed when Erik raised an eyebrow. “I like making the first move.”

“Fine,” Erik said, cracking his knuckles, “so make it.”

And so he did. A pawn forward, on either side of the board, and the game had begun.

They exchanged turns, nothing sensational, playing in relative silence until Charles had to decide which way he wanted this game to go.

He gazed at the board, tilted his head, considered.

“Are you ever going to move?” Erik asked suddenly, cutting through the strategic web that had enveloped his mind.

“What?” he asked, gaze flickering from the tablet to Erik. “I’m getting there, let me think.”

“Alright then,” Erik teased, kicking his feet up onto the table with a chuckle, “take your time, if you must.”

“Yes, I must,” Charles nodded, and that was that.

Erik snorted and turned to gaze out the window and Charles considered. When he finally made his move, Erik seemed totally lost in thought and missed it completely.

“Hey!” Charles yelled, picking up the discarded copy of _Twilight_ and flinging it towards Erik. “It’s your turn! Are you ever going to move?”

Luckily for Charles, his aim was perfect – perhaps too perfect – for once in his life, and the book flew straight into Erik’s face.

“Shit!” Erik exclaimed, reaching up to hold his face and staring at Charles in horror. “What the hell was that for?!”

Now, Charles by no means meant to actually _hurt_ Erik, he just simply wanted to get his attention and perhaps stun him a little. There was already a bruise blooming under Erik’s eye, making the glare he was sending Charles far more frightening than it actually was.

“You were being too slow,” Charles simply said, hiding his concern behind his mug and sipping his tea.

“Trigger happy Brits,” Erik muttered, tossing _Twilight_ onto the ground with derision and moving to look back at the tablet. “Now I’m really going to have to beat you.”

“Good luck with that,” Charles said sweetly, raising his mug towards Erik.

Erik narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t need luck.”

Sadly for Charles, that proved to be true. For the remainder of the game Erik played with a ferocity and cunning glint in his eyes that hadn’t been there in the first half. He absolutely smashed Charles, leaving him stranded with his King a sitting duck, and feeling just a little stunned.

“Well,” he starts, still trying to make sense of what had happened, “you won.”

“I did,” Erik replied, “and you sound surprised.”

“No one’s ever beaten me at chess,” Charles admitted, fingers tapping at the edge of the table in an uneven beat.

An eyebrow was quirked, and Erik rose out of his chair and leaned over the table.

“Is that so?” he murmured, face painfully close, and Charles swore he’d only felt his heart beat this hard when he’d accidentally fallen into Hank’s mind the day he’d awkwardly tried to ask Charles about the cute blond boy in his Calculus class.

He opened his mouth to reply, but by the time he’d successfully constructed a witty enough comeback, Erik had swiped his mug of tea and returned to his seat.

“Is that so?” he asked again, taking a sip, eyes never leaving Charles’ over the rim of the mug.

 

~*~

 

“Metal?” Charles asked, not bothering to contain his surprise.

“Problem?” Erik looked up from setting up pieces, his piercing gaze settling on Charles with that familiar playful derision.

“Not at all,” Charles murmured in response, “just unusual, is all.”

“I know,” was all Erik said before he turned his attention back to the pieces, handling the metal almost with reverence, as if it was a beloved companion, something he knew inside and out, and something that knew him in the same way.

Charles wondered if he wasn’t the only one with hiding a secret.

Mutants weren’t exactly uncommon, but they weren’t exactly accepted either. Charles had spent the better part of his youth training his own damn brain into shutting down that pesky corner of his mind that acted as a window into anyone and everyone around him. The glass was dusty at the moment; covered in grime and cobwebs and shoved as far away as he could manage. It was easier to live as everyone else did, pretending mutants didn’t exist and staying under the radar.

He just wasn’t sure if it was easier for himself, or for everyone else in the world.

Casting those thoughts aside – he knew it was better not to dwell on them – he picked up a pawn and slid it forward, locking eyes with Erik.

“Game on.”

 

~*~

 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you out of the grounds the other day,” Erik commented with a raised eyebrow, moving his bishop a few squares with sharp calculation.

“Likewise,” Charles replied, studying his possible moves with a false air of calmness, tucking his grin behind his hand.

He remembered the way he’d run into Erik by his and Moira’s tree; what the other boy had been doing there he had no clue, but they’d exchanged sharp nods, too awkward to do much other than stare at Moira and her silent laughing fit.

Erik looked up at him, seeing the way Charles was struggling to hold in a laugh of his own and took pity on him.

“It’s fine,” he chuckles, “you can say it.”

Charles slumps back in his seat and lets out his laugh. 

“Perhaps I wasn’t that surprised. You seem the type,” he commented, swiping a pawn.

“And what type might that be?”

It’s Erik’s turn to lean back in his seat, as he fixed Charles with one of his smirks.

“Oh, you know,” Charles said vaguely, waving a hand around dismissively. “Handsome rebellious troublemakers and the like. Always getting up to trouble of the noblest kind at all hours of the day.”

He’s so focused on the carefully offhand mask he’s put on that he doesn’t notice his totally not offhand remark.

“So you think I’m handsome,” Erik grinned, voice smug, and legs, predictably, swinging up to sit on the table.

“I- well I mean you are a typically, uh, attractive person or whatever. You know, nice face and all that. Tall.”

Charles wants to _die_. It’s not often that he has to comment on someone’s appearance, let alone someone he finds attractive, but when he does, it never fails to be an absolute disaster.

Erik, on the other hand, looks positively delighted, like Charles hadn’t just given him the most somewhat flattering and vaguely coherent compliment of all time.

“Good to know,” Erik said with a nod, “now hurry up and make your move.”

Charles startled, caught off guard because last he remembers its _Erik’s_ move, but there the other boy is, a white rook dangling from his fingers and that ever-present smirk on his face.

 

 ~*~

 

Charles was speechless. In a bad way. Definitely a bad way.

Realising he liked Erik didn’t come to him slowly. It came to him way, way too fast, rushing up on him in the middle of the hallway by the noticeboard where, months ago, he’d put that damned flyer up not expecting one simple flimsy bit of paper to be the catalyst of the way his heart was fluttering like it was just as flimsy.

It only took six tiny little words to spin his world into a flurry of disappointment and realisation.

“What do you mean you can’t come to the meeting?” Charles said, not even bothering to hide the displeasure in his voice.

A captain goes down with his ship.

“Exactly that,” Erik said, looking at least somewhat regretful. “I have to go to the dentist.”

“I cannot believe you’re going to the _dentist_ instead of coming to the meeting, you’re expelled, not that I’d even want you there if these are your priorities,” Charles raved, enjoying the dramatics and the way Erik’s eyes crinkled up with laughter.

“Oh calm down, I’ll be back at the end of lunch. We can play later. And maybe, you know, actually hang out outside of that classroom.”

Charles blinked.

“A splendid idea.”

 

~*~

 

Charles let himself fall backwards, flopping back onto the bench and letting the sun hit him right in the face. Good pain.

It was the kind of Sunday afternoon that demanded solitude and possibly spiked hot chocolate, so Charles had left the dorms in search of the one he could get.

He loved the gazebo that sat lonely in the school grounds, surrounded by forgotten but still impeccable shrubbery, and just a bit too far away from the main buildings to make it worth the trip.

There was the distant sound of other students, but instead of it being as stifling as it is in close proximity, Charles took comfort in it, enjoying the presence of humanity without it brushing too close to the fringes of his mind.

He sat there. He didn’t know long for. He felt the sun shift across his face, evening out the burn he would no doubt be sporting the next day.

Time passed.

And suddenly, time stopped.

Time stopped with a hand on his arm, a soft voice calling his name.

He opened his eyes, and time restarted.

And there was Erik, looking sheepish for the first time, a box clutched tightly in the hand that wasn’t rested on Charles’ arm.

Still rested.

“Charles,” Erik said, voice startlingly loud in the solitude.

“Erik,’ he managed to reply, still a little dazed from his hypnosis, still a lot dazed from Erik’s hand.

Still rested.

Erik sat down next to him, pushing Charles over a little and setting the box on his knee.

“I brought something. Open it.”

Charles lifted the lid, and inside was a cheesecake.

“Not that I don’t like cheesecake, of course… but why?”

“I just… wanted to. Wanted to eat cheesecake, I mean. It’s raspberry. You like raspberries, don’t you?” Erik asked rushing through his sentences, barely taking a breath.

Charles hid his smile and softly pushed his barriers back up. Erik's mind was rather adorable. 

“I’m impressed you remember.”

 And he was. Because he loved raspberries, and he remembered telling Erik that once, offhandedly, weeks ago, a passing trivial thought when he’d had a sudden craving.   

“Well,” Erik smiled, “good thing I brought forks.”

 

~*~

 

He frowned. Erik had the board set up with white as his end, black at Charles’. They’d played the same colours for the last however many months, he wasn’t about to switch now.

He reached out to flip the board around, but Erik reached out too, placing his hand over Charles’ to stop him.

“Leave it.” 

“You’re playing white?” Charles questioned, sliding slowly into his seat, confusion showing on his face.

“You said you liked making the first move, but god Charles, you’re taking so damn long it’s my turn today.”

“Look, I know you don’t appreciate my thorough thought processes, but I refuse to make a rushed move, it’s simply idiotic-”

“Oh, shut up, Charles. You just don’t know how to take a hint, do you?”

Erik rolled his eyes, and Charles huffed at the sight, not bothering to hide his irritation.

“What are you talking about?”  

“I’m talking about the fact that I’m trying to ask you out but you just want to talk about _chess_.”

“Well I’m sorry that- what?”

Charles must have been hearing wrong. He knew Erik liked him, of course he did. He just didn’t expect him to be the one to confess first. Goddamn it, he wanted to be the one who made the first move. He _always_ played white.

“Exactly what you heard,” Erik said, swinging his feet up onto the table and leaning back in his chair in the exact way that Charles had always said he hated. He wasn’t fooling anyone. Least of all Erik.

“Oh my god, you insufferable little shit, _I was getting there_.”

“At the speed of a glacier! I was doing both of us a favour, now stop whining.”

“No!”

“Fine!”

They glared at each other over the chessboard for a few prolonged seconds before breaking down into laughter.

They sat there for a moment, time suspended between their two sets of eyes, grins softly adorning their faces.  

“Wait though,” Charles broke the moment, “how did you know I liked you too? Well, I knew you liked me, but I thought I’d have at least a somewhat decent poker face,” Charles frowned, remembering his behaviour over the past few months, trying to find anything that would have given him away.

“A guess, honestly. But an educated one. I was ninety-three percent sure, but that seven percent was worth the risk. Not all of us can be a telepath,” Erik said, letting the smirk that had been hiding at the edge of his lips take reign across his features.

Charles felt his heart stop.

“How- how did you know?”

Erik shrugged.

“The way you’d react to things, especially in the halls, in public. I tested it out sometimes, thinking something particularly outrageous and seeing what you’d do. The way your ears go pink is really rather adorable,” he said with a smile, and perhaps the most light heartedness Charles had ever seen from him. But then Erik blinked, and his eyes swam with sadness. “You turn it off though. Sometimes I can see the barrier in your eyes. You turn off part of what makes you _you_ and it feels like the sun’s been swallowed by the rest of space. You shouldn’t have to hide it, Charles.”

It’s a moment before Charles can even kick-start his brain again. It’s astounding, the way Erik can read him inside and out, in a way that even Moira sometimes can’t. He’s never known someone that’s so stubbornly steadfast and loyal but ruthless at the same time. But perhaps, that’s just the two sides of the unique coin that is Erik Lehnsherr.

“Erik, I… I _have_ to turn it off, I can’t just go around listening to people’s thoughts every day, it’s not right. I’ve been hiding it for so long I could barely remember what it felt like to just let myself be, as I am. But then I met you. And you were so unapologetic about everything, about your opinions and your mess of a haircut and your goddamn chess playing. I felt okay slipping. I felt like I _could_ slip.”

“I’d rather you fell,” Erik murmured, studying Charles with a soft expression before getting up out of his chair, pulling Charles out of his and reaching out to wrap him in a hug.

“No,” he grumbled from where he was pressed against a button, “that was terrible. And don’t think I didn’t notice you, mister metal manipulation.”

He felt Erik stiffen and the hand on his waist gripped just a bit tighter.

“You noticed that? When?”

“Mm. A while ago. Telepath remember?”

“That’s cheating! I noticed because I’m observant and smart!”

Charles laughed.

“I’m kidding. I picked up on it before I let down my shields around you. The first time you brought your chess set along. There was a way you played that day… it was really like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I’ve played with people that have a connection to the game but this was more than that. This was you feeling at one with the pieces and the board. It’s really rather phenomenal. And part of what makes you such a great player. Really, the telepathy just confirmed it.”

“Huh. No one’s ever noticed before,” Erik mused, bringing a hand up to run through Charles’ hair.

“Takes one to know one, I guess,” Charles chucked, leaning further into Erik and closing his eyes against the bright afternoon sun that had begun to shine through the window.

“Indeed.”

 

 


End file.
